Missed Opportunities
by Liv Wilder
Summary: This is a Pandora/Linchpin spin-off. Conjecture on what might become of Kate and Castle's relationship now that Sofia has appeared on the scene and certain truths have been revealed.
1. Chapter 1

**Missed Opportunities**

**A/N: This is a Pandora/Linchpin spin-off – pure conjecture at this point. It breaks my heart to even think like this…but reading between the lines, it's something we might have to face up to. Though I certainly hope not.**

**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe created them. I'm just having a little fun. I own nothing.

* * *

><p>"Castle, you coming?" asks Kate, turning away to leave, as if the question is a mere formality, rhetorical even.<p>

She stops when she hears the hesitancy in his voice. It calls her back.

"Eh…" he looks back at Sofia, then over at Kate, and she can see that he is clearly torn.

But torn between what? Past and present? Want and need? Easy and difficult? Available and…_what_, promised? Love and duty? And if it's love, love for whom?

"Sofia and I were just going to go get a drink. Catch up…old times," he admits, his tone a little apologetic, his expression a little guilty.

"Right," says Kate, her face closing to him, the light in her eyes shuttering, a blush creeping onto her cheeks that she's unable to hide. "Right. Leave you to it. I'll see you around, Castle," she adds, walking out of the door, and the way she feels right now, out of his life for good.

He makes a half-hearted move to get her to stay, catches her arm, says something about her being welcome to join them. But it's clearly just a polite formality. Something you'd say to a new friend, to include them with the old, when really all you want is to pour over reminiscences with someone who was there at the time.

New friends just get in the way, force you to edit your act, explain each story in a way that sucks the life out of remembering, ruining the spontaneity of the memory, killing the verbal shorthand. And in this instance, Kate suspects, the editing might have to cut deep to keep personal details hidden, to screen past intimacies from her specifically.

She shakes off his arm, doesn't look back or even reply. She knows Sofia is watching them, a placid, enigmatic smile on her lips. She's winning this round, and she hasn't even uttered a word. Just stands there, with her arms crossed, hip jutting out sharply, cool and in control because she knows she's got her man.

Kate knows that Castle was by no means innocent in all of this. These past few days, she watched in horror as he flirted right back, a spark of something flaring in his eyes the minute this woman reentered his orbit.

Sofia Turner/Clara Strike; a passage in his history he has yet to underline. The one woman he admitted not wanting to share his theory with, lest he look like an ass if it turned out that he was wrong. Kate's seen him look like an ass more times than she can remember. This knowledge should comfort her, tell her that he feel sure enough in her company to put himself out there, but in her present state of mind it just tells her that she matters less, that her opinion of him is less important. That Sofia means more.

And suddenly Kate is on the outside of their relationship looking in. That bubble they normally operate in, Beckett and Castle - of needs anticipated but never voiced, sentences finished without misunderstanding, promises made to hearts that were broken - that bubble is now a hard, glass shell, soundproofed and impenetrable. And now she's on the outside and she can't bear to look.

So she leaves. Walks away, with a sob threatening to escape her painfully constricting throat, choking her, unshed tears burning the backs of her eyes.

She makes it out of that damned CIA bunker, shakes off her handler, throws that bloody black cloth hood on the floor, and then she walks as fast as she can away from that place where her worst fears have been realized.

Nothing to do with being abducted, or almost drowning, or being shot at. No. Nothing at all.

Because suddenly – and why didn't she see this before – suddenly, it's clear to her that _this_ is the very worst that could happen, even in _her_ risk-filled, death-soaked, dangerous life.

And it's all because she made him wait. Pushed him away with some crap about walls and not being ready to be the best that she can be. But who the hell ever is, right? Everyone has flaws and baggage. Hell, _he_ has more baggage than Delta on a good day. And now she's lost him. Lost him to an old flame who's been flashing '_I'm available'_ and '_let's pick up where we left off'_ signs at him for the last few days. Not in Morse code. Hell no. This broad might as well have hired an electronic billboard in Times Square.

She's been saying it loud and clear, with her body, and her looks, and the things she said and didn't say. And now Kate is furious and hurt. Furious at her, _and_ at him. But most of all, just furious with herself, for feeling this way, for being such a coward, for missing her chance, and for taking them for granted.

She's great, (extraordinary, he said) but she's not _that_ great. Figures he'd give up on her eventually. He's a man. 'I love yous' aside, he's still a man, and she's rejected him time without number. Not overtly. Well, yes, that too, on occasion, if she's honest. But also with looks, and the sharp edge of her tongue, the arch of an eyebrow that said 'don't you dare come too close'. If roles had been reversed she'd have moved on by now. Only so much rejection her ego could take before she got the message and moved on. He should get a medal really, for making it this far.

* * *

><p>She's out by the side of the road now, hailing a cab. Her tears have disappeared beneath the whirring of her mind. Memories, moments forgotten, now re-summoned, swirl to the surface in her brain.<p>

Her chest aches as she climbs into the taxi alone, already missing her partner with a pain that is visceral. She thinks maybe she's forgetting to breathe, her chest aches so badly.

They were supposed to be walking out of this together, laughing that they'd survived the CIA, averted W., just the two of them - invincible.

Like the Marines, she's never left a man behind…until now and it feels awful.

A tear plops fat and wet against her hand, startling her, followed immediately by another, and another, until her gloves are stained, the leather soaked through like a chamois cloth. She doesn't move, makes no effort to wipe them away. She thinks she might be breaking.

The guys are expecting them back at the precinct. So she directs the cab driver there. Doesn't know what else to do, so she falls back on protocol, because protocol is something she knows, something she's good at. Give her any situation and she'll outline her strategy for you, color within the lines, stick to the straight and narrow (until she met him), follow the rules. _That_ she can do.

But ask her to follow her heart, take a risk on an unsafe bet, tread the untrodden path, put herself out there for him…and it seems facing down a sniper would be easier.

She's failed. He's gone and she's done.

* * *

><p>She heaves herself out of the cab and makes her way indoors. The boys are so welcoming when she reaches the bullpen that she thinks she might break down all over again. They pester her for details of the case, the CIA, and finally, Castle.<p>

Kate shrugs off her coat, and tries to shrug off that man. Her partner. _Ex_-partner?

The boys look at her - really look - their excitement and enthusiasm blasted to smithereens by how broken she looks. An awkward silence descends as they watch Kate get herself under control. Pulling it together, for their sakes, as well as her own.

Ryan goes to make coffee. Esposito takes her coat and hangs it up. They're not Castle, but they're damn well trying. She could weep it's so sweet. These men, her boys. A consolation prize she's eternally grateful for today.

The coffee appears, hot and wet, and she accepts it gratefully. It's not Castle's coffee, but it soothes her, leeching warmth into her bones, scalding the damaged parts clean.

Ryan's busying himself with something on his computer. They don't have an active case, so Kate assumes it's a front. Esposito is waiting in the wings for the right moment to ask, and his silence is so damn loud that she almost laughs.

"He went out with Sofia, the CIA agent," she says finally, by way of explanation. "And that's an end to it," she adds, managing somehow to keep her voice even, though tiredness seeps through.

The boys stare at her. Questions in their eyes and on the tips of their tongues. An internal battle taking place – propriety over a desire to know and to help.

Esposito breaks first, that brave boy.

"What does he think he's doing?" he asks, a question at once so 'nail on the head' and yet, so brutal it stings.

'_I have no idea'_ and '_seems pretty clear to me'_, are the two answers that pop into her head.

"He's living his life," is what she finally comes up with. "Can't blame him for that, can we? He gave us four years, a lot of laughs, some crazy-assed theories and an espresso machine. And now it's over. People leave marriages with less. We should be grateful. Just move on."

She's fooling no one with her clipped remarks, but they give her a minute. Don't call her on it immediately, and she's grateful, oh, how she's grateful. Because her pithy observations dredge up a world of hurt in the form of happy memories and imagined fantasies. Fantasies of what could have been, had she been able to take her courage in both hands, and tell him. '_I heard you'_ and '_I'm sorry'_ and '_I love you too'_.

Now she's on the outside she wonders what the hell stopped her. Because saying those things would have been a damn sight less painful than what she's feeling right now.

"So you're just giving up?"

Esposito's voice startles her. He's in Castle's chair, leaning across the desk at her. Ryan's scooting over on his office chair, wheels skidding across the wooden boards until they've formed a little triangle; ready for a powwow.

"I'm…I'm no good at this. I don't think I'm even any good for him," she says with as much honesty as she can muster. "So, best to just move on. I appreciate your concern guys, but I'll be fine. Really."

She tries to reassure them with a pathetically weak smile. "It obviously wasn't meant to be," she adds, with a finality she hopes will close down this awkward, too personal conversation, leaving her to grieve in peace.

"The hell it wasn't," mutters Esposito, with a fervency usually reserved for perps…or sports.

Kate's eyes find his, grabbing hold of the strength she sees there, the conviction he obviously still has for her and Castle, when her own conviction has failed. Hope flares in her chest.

"What? You're not going to fight, Beckett? How can you not? This is just wrong, man. It's wrong," he says, getting up from Castle's chair with a look of deep disappointment, trying to contain his anger. At her. For her.

* * *

><p>Kate makes a show of doing paperwork, filing a report on their CIA adventure, but her heart isn't in it. In truth she can barely see the keyboard as she types.<p>

Five o'clock rolls around and she's ready to give in. The physical and emotional trauma of the last few days settle into her body, leaving it feeling battered and bruised.

She aches for a bath, a little food, and her own warm, soft bed. The desire for sleep and the promise of oblivion is almost overwhelming.

The boys watch her leave, a pastiche of concern and hurt on their faces. She promises to call if she needs anything, thought they all know that she won't. Her self-reliance is one of the things that got her into this mess in the first place, but old habits die hard, and maybe she's just too old to change?

* * *

><p>When she finally closes her own front door the pain is overwhelming. She's still wearing her coat when the tears start to fall, sobs tearing at her throat. Her nose is running, mascara streaking her face. She stumbles over to the sofa, leans against the back of it, hanging on, her head on her arms, dying inside.<p>

When she finally manages to kick off her shoes her tears have run dry, leaving behind a fear and desolation she hasn't felt since her mom was murdered.

This man means that much to her, was such an important part of her life, and yet she never took the opportunity to tell him to his face. She missed out on that same chance with her own mother, over a decade ago, and it looks like she's failing miserably to learn from her mistakes.

* * *

><p>Food, the bath, they're both forgotten, trumped by the urgent need to crawl under the covers and try to forget. Self-pity is making her feel sick. Her head craves a soft pillow and the deepest sleep she can find.<p>

She pops a sleeping tablet, left over from her summer of recovery, and downs a glass of water, suddenly parched from all that crying. Too many tears, all shed too late.

Visions of Sofia and Castle together, her body draped all over him, predatory and possessive, haunt her attempts at sleep. She sees them both naked, the hunger and want in his eyes something she'd hoped to spark in him. Now just a failed fantasy that she was so busy putting off with promises of 'one day', that it's time has passed.

She finally falls asleep, exhausted, at 3am, and for the rest of the night these visions haunt her dreams.

He's gone. She's done.


	2. Chapter 2

Missed Opportunities

A/N: I'm writing this story because I needed to get it out. As much as I love Castle, the characters sometimes frustrate me. Rick, more than Kate, it has to be said. For a man who's supposed to love her, he was doing an awful lot of flirting with Sofia Turner and in other episodes his detachment towards Kate seems at times unrealistic. It seems to me he should have more chutzpah.

Kate fascinates me, as a strong female lead, but she puzzles me with her reticence to dive in. Her strengths are also her weaknesses. Maybe she senses Castle's fickleness? Maybe she realizes his 'I love you' was said in the heat of the moment, at a point in time when he thought she might die. Who knows? This story is meant to explore that dichotomy.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

When she finally wakes it's nearly nine. Sunlight is streaming in through her bedroom window, too bright and too cheerful, for the mood she's in.

Her phone was confiscated and smashed on their recent 'mission', so she failed to set an alarm. But she rationalizes that there's no one she ought to be calling and she clearly needed to sleep. She's sure even Gates will cut her some slack after the events of the last few days.

So Kate drags her aching, banged up body into the bathroom, inspecting an array of livid, purple bruises in the vanity mirror, while she waits for the shower to heat up.

Her head feels heavy and her nose is stuffed up. She's sure her eyes are puffy, and one look in the mirror confirms that it's worse than she thought. She looks almost as bad as she did after surgery. The bullet to her chest as damaging as the wound to her heart that she's nursing right now, with Castle gone from her life, his choice made; the choice that wasn't her.

The hot water and steam slowly put her back together, opening up her sinuses, washing the wooly feeling out of her head. Cleansing her.

She rinses her face in the sink, splashing cold water on her eyes, again and again, until the swelling starts to subside, and she can pat her skin gently dry, wishing her life could be so easily fixed.

She pulls on a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft, pale grey, angora sweater. Even her underwear is chosen for comfort today, because she needs the mental hug it gives her, knows she needs all the support she can get, if she's going to make it through this transitional phase. When everything will remind her of him.

When his empty chair beside her desk will taunt her. When she'll reach for her early morning coffee cup and she'll find an empty space. When she'll look up in expectation every time the elevator doors open…and it won't be him. When the call signaling a body drop will come in the middle of the night and she'll have to go it alone. When he won't have her back. Her wingman, her savior.

And it's going to be torture. But that's the kicker: her own personal punishment.

Dr. Burke had encouraged her. Hell, even _she_ had agreed that it was time. That she was ready for more.

So why the hell did she wait? Why wait, until it was too late, and he was snapped up by somebody else? Someone who saw what she wanted and went after it. Because when you looked at it like that it seemed so simple.

Her stomach growled, interrupting her attempt at self-analysis and a post-rationalization that made her want to vomit. Being aware of her motivations would do her little good now. If a trained professional couldn't get through to her, what chance did Kate have of clearing this up on her own?

She pours out a bowl of granola, splashing in the last of the milk, hoping that two days past sell-by-date isn't two days too late. Because given her current luck, she'll succumb to botulism or listeria. Timing clearly isn't her strong suit, she thinks wryly.

* * *

><p>The air is crisp and fresh as she makes her way on foot to the subway. The walk will do her good, clear her head, and tire her out in the best way possible.<p>

Her eyes scan the crowd, unconsciously looking for his face.

She fails to see him, and yet she sees him everywhere, in every dark-haired stranger who rushes past her. The sensation is making her dizzy, pulling her in ten different directions all at once, assaulting her senses, filling her up with thoughts of him.

The ache isn't less today, she feels it just as keenly. But her focus is returning, her ability to think and remember more clearly, and it hurts all the more as a result.

She sees his eyes first, too blue, too devastating, swimming in front of hers; filled with kindness and real emotion, with humor and fun, with hope, and a desire for her he knew never to utter. Her rules. Her fault.

Next she sees his hands; gentle, soft, thick, capable hands. Hands that have held a baby, his baby, and changed countless diapers, made dinner for her when she forgot to feed herself, handed her coffee each morning in lieu of a kiss, touched her tenderly when allowed the chance, held onto her tightly when she thought she might fall or freeze to death.

Hands that write stories celebrating the best that she is; an ode to her strength, her beauty, and his admiration for her, a fictional life of his creation where he can allow them to be together, without risking her refusal or fearing her flight, a version of their lives where he is control and they are more.

Hands that held her as the life bled out of her on the damp, green grass of a cemetery floor.

Hands she wants to hold until they're both old and grey, and slipping away to a life yet unknown.

And it's almost too much. Remembering.

* * *

><p>She's sitting in the carriage now, being jostled from side-to-side, as the train speeds on through dark tunnels, and here she sees his body. The strength in his muscles, the hard lines that define him, the height that she loves to rival, in heels that are almost too high to walk in, let alone chase down perps in dirty back alleys. She sees the sweep of his back, broad and solid, encased in fine navy cotton, with a thread count higher than her best sheets.<p>

His narrow waist captures her imagination next. Sharp pants or fitted jeans, he wears both equally well. His belt buckle beckons her in this waking fantasy, fingers itching to tackle the slide and play of leather through metal, freedom and release.

Thoughts of pants bring her to thighs, his spectacular, muscular thighs. She's climbed on top of him, used him as a human ladder, slept beside him, kicked walls down whilst shoulder-to-shoulder with him. She know his body, knows what it's capable of…in some circumstances. Had hoped to learn more.

* * *

><p>She's tripping up the subway steps, flowing along with the crowd when she thinks of his hair; dark and thick, and luxurious. It has tickled her cheek, she's breathed in its' scent, more than once, sharp and clean, the essence of him. But she's only had one opportunity to slide her fingers through it, briefly, caressing his scalp, when they'd kissed with such an unleashing of passion that, if it hadn't been for her colleague's imminent danger, she'd have blown that undercover operation, and taken him there and then, out in the open, up against her car. Opportunities missed.<p>

By the time she arrives at the precinct she's a hot mess of hormones and need, turned on, even in this moment of grief, by what might have been. What _they_ might have been.

And maybe that's the problem. With fantasies as vivid as this, and the man right there in front of you, day-in-day-out, she hadn't needed to act. He was _right there_. Anytime she wanted him, he was available to her, just a touch away. But now it's too late and he's gone. Lost to someone else.

* * *

><p>When she sits down at her desk she feels the boys' eyes upon her. Worried, questioning eyes that beg reassurance from her. Assurances that she's okay, that she'll get through this, and lead them on to fight another day.<p>

New York's Finest.

Esposito approaches first, Special Forces training clearly the mark of a man.

"Hey, Beckett. Got a live one for you. Credit card activity on the Shaftsbury case. Uni's are picking the guy up right now. You in?"

And Kate exhales. So, so grateful for the normality she's just been offered. This simple kindness speaks volumes about how much these guys care, and it eases her heart just a little. Tells her things might just be okay in the long run…if only she can hang in there.

Ryan presents her with a cup of coffee as if he's just proposed with the largest, fanciest diamond Tiffany has to offer. And it feels so good. Makes her feel loved and appreciated, even if she has lost the one thing, no, the one man, she loves most of all.

Because as much as she's responsible for how this played out, she's deeply hurt by Castle's betrayal. They were in this together, or so she thought. Standing on the edge of something. And now it's like the last four years meant nothing. As if the efforts she made to allow him into her life, against her own better judgment, cost her nothing.

One look from Sofia Turner and Kate Beckett was history. Better she find out now, than six months down the line, when she'd invited him into her bed, woken up in his arms, fallen even harder, all in, one and done.

She didn't think he was this shallow, at least not anymore. But if he can do this to her now, when things were just beginning, shiny and new, filled with excitement and the thrill of possibility. What if they'd been married? Or had a child? What then? There must be plenty of Sofia Turners out there, just waiting for a chance to pounce. Yes, better she find out now. Damage limitation.

So, she thanks Ryan with the best smile she can conjure up on this inauspicious day. Day One of her post-Castle world; when the pain is overwhelming, and she's fighting with everything she has to see the good, to hold onto hope, before the healing can begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Missed Opportunities**

**Chapter 3**

It's 11.05am when Kate emerges from the ladies' restroom, drying her hands on her jeans because the dispenser is all out of paper towels – one of the joys of working in a male dominated environment.

She's halfway to her desk when she's struck by an overpowering sense of déja vu. It starts with an aroma and finishes with a sound. Both are rich, warm and familiar, and they stop her in her tracks, one hand clutching the wall, the other to her chest, because her heart starts to race, and an uncomfortable heat spreads from her neck to her face, prickling her scalp, making her feel claustrophobic and a little panicked.

She pushes off the wall and makes it back to her desk, sliding into her seat before she notices the first source of her flashback. There's a takeout coffee cup on her desk, steam curling out of the small hole in the lid, sitting next to a smallish white box, with a barcode printed on the side.

She looks around her, scanning the bullpen in puzzlement, when the source of the familiar sound begins making it's way across the room, getting louder as it gets nearer. And suddenly there's nowhere to hide, and no time to prepare.

Because striding across the floor, hands casually jammed into his pockets, looking relaxed and painfully attractive, is her _ex_-partner, Richard Castle.

"Hey, Beckett," he says, sinking into 'his' chair with his own coffee cup in hand. "Needed a refill," he adds, raising his cup to explain his arrival from the direction of the break room.

Kate blinks owlishly at him. She's passed through the initial shocked phase, though heat still warms her cheeks. But now, she's transitioning towards indignation and anger. She _knows_ she told him yesterday that she'd '_see him around'_, when she shook him off in that damn bunker to run after his girlfriend, and any fool knows that's the universal code for, '_Get lost creep. I never want to see you again'_.

Well, don't they?

But this is Richard Castle. The man who's spent the last four years insinuating his way into every last crevice – well, almost - of her life, whether she liked it or not. The man has skin as thick as a rhino and an ego to match.

He's talking again and Kate is struggling to focus. When she looks at his face across the desk, there's just something about it, something too bright, too flushed, a little hyper, a little forced, and…did he just get _laid_?

The thought makes her feel physically sick all over again, jealousy and hurt burning in her stomach, along with too much coffee and too little food. But he's babbling on and she has to force down the bile that rises in her throat to grasp what he's saying.

"So, I got us both new phones - the latest Apple iPhones in fact - so we can upload some killer apps. The Department's only going to give you a basic replacement for that old piece of junk you had. So, that's why I'm late – stopped to pick them up this morning. I would have called, but your direct line was in my old phone and…well, I suppose I could have dialed 911, but Gates would probably have kicked my ass."

Kate blinks at him, quite unable to believe what she's hearing. But apparently there's more and so he blunders on oblivious.

"These come with preloaded SIM's, so I got the guy to give us sequential numbers, which I thought would be kind of cool. I'm assuming you'll want the one ending 01, so I took the one ending in 02. But how neat is that, our numbers will come one after the other," he says with delight, as if he's just carved their initials into a tree and etched a love heart around them, joining them together forever.

If it weren't so wildly inappropriate, given yesterday's developments, it would be cute and terribly sweet. But Kate's face is obviously going with inappropriate, and the second Castle sees the look in her eyes, he backs up, flailing, to smooth things over.

"But, hey, if you need to keep your old number, I totally understand. It's for work, and changing it would be…tricky. I get it, Beckett. We can set up the iPhone with your old number. Maybe even find a panic button app," he jokes, still missing the tension in her posture, and failing to register the fact that she hasn't uttered a word since he sat down and started wittering.

Kate tears her eyes away from the man in front of her and the iPhone box on her desk to look over at Ryan and Esposito. They've been so quiet these last few minutes that it wouldn't surprise her to find that they'd gone out on a call. But no, they're both still here, listening intently, watching the scene with undisguised interest, all pretense of work forgotten.

Finally, Kate finds her voice, as Castle fidgets in front of her, his behavior calling to her like a beacon in the dark. He's on tenterhooks and she's sure she knows why, and the guilt he's displaying only confirms it for her, driving the point home firmly. He spent the night with Sofia Turner, and so he's turned up with this peace offering, acting as if they can carry on like nothing's changed. When _everything_ has changed.

_Her_ world's just tilted on its' axis, and he's behaving as if she's too dumb to notice. Like he can perform another little song and dance routine, throw in some cute line about their sequential phone numbers, and she'll take him back…_again_, watch him date someone else while she stands idly by. Well, _no_. This time he's wrong.

"Castle, what are you doing here?" she asks finally, her tone flat, betraying her emotional exhaustion.

"Uh. Well, we have paperwork - the post-CIA report to write. I thought you'd like some help with that, _and_…why wouldn't I be here?" he asks, sounding mystified.

"I'd like you to leave," she says firmly, her arms crossing defensively across her chest.

"_What_? What _I_ do?" he asks, his head whipping from Kate to Ryan and Esposito.

The guys stare him out, eyebrows raised, backing up their boss however she wants to play this.

"Guys?" he asks, looking for a steer.

"Shouldn't you be running after your _girlfriend_?" Kate spits, giving him a clue.

"My _what?_ My…" he shakes his head.

"Just get out," she grits, turning back to her paperwork, sliding the coffee cup and phone across the desk towards him, head down, case closed.

"Kate…" he tries, a note of pleading mixed with a lack of understanding.

"Don't 'Kate' me, Castle. It's Beckett. Now just take your things and get the hell out," she hisses, knowing she's cutting off her own nose here, but too wounded to care.

"Kate, talk to me. What's this about?" he persists.

He's got guts and staying power, she'll give him that. But people are starting to stare, picking up on the atmosphere, and she just wants it to stop, wants him to leave her in peace so she can wash the images of him and that woman out of her head. Wants to lick her wounds in private, without him sitting across from her, the most painful reminder of what could have been. A visual shorthand to her own failure.

"I told you to leave. Please leave," she repeats, without looking up.

"_No_," he replies defiantly. "No, _Beckett_. Not until you tell me what this is about," he replies, adding inflection to her surname just to piss her off.

Kate stares at him. Unable to believe he's just answered her back. Hell, _refused_ her request.

"You're…did you just say '_no_'?" she asks, eyes widening, dark and dangerous.

Well, two can play at that game, she thinks childishly.

"_Fine_. If you won't leave, then _I_ will. Guys, if you need me I'll be on my old cell."

Then she gets up, grabs her coat, and heads for the exit.

To say Castle is stunned is an understatement. The whole bullpen is watching by now, and, though Kate's painfully aware of this, she manages to maintain her cool, fighting the urge to look back while she waits impatiently for the elevator doors to open.

When she finally gets to step inside, Castle squeezes in along with her, turning to face the front as they've done countless times before.

"Castle, get out," says Kate, no fight left in her, a finger pressed to the Door Open button, waiting for him to leave.

"No. I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me," he says stubbornly. Crossing his own arms over his chest.

"Whatever," mutters Kate, finally letting the doors slide shut, because she's desperate to escape the curious looks from her colleagues and simply wants to disappear.

* * *

><p>The ride down is silent and awkward; the air filled with angry tension, though neither of them utters a word.<p>

Kate strides out first, hitting the street at a fast clip. She uses her long legs to good effect, glad she wore boots instead of pumps this morning, as she tries to outrun the writer. Her hips swing, long navy coat flying behind her as she powers up the street, heading north, though she actually has no idea where she's going. The decision to leave the precinct was a spur of the moment thing, and so she's temporarily without a plan, other than the driving need to get away from Richard Castle.

But he's keeping pace with her, step-for-infuriating-step. His extra height means he can match her stride easily, and his elbow bumps her side several times as they make their way along the sidewalk, past crowds of shoppers and tourists. These brief touches send sparks of electricity down Kate's body; flickering from her ribs, down past her waist, before shooting down her thigh, temporarily stealing her breath away.

It's dry and cold outside, and a chill wind drives towards them out of the north, reducing the temperature by several degrees. Puffs of condensed vapor hit the cold air every time a breath escapes Kate's mouth as she labors to keep up her pace. Castle shows no sign of slowing down and she's beginning to wonder if outrunning him is such as good idea, when he grabs hold of her arm, clearly as frustrated by this situation as she is, and he wheels her around to face him.

"Get _off _me!" she yells, drawing stares from passersby.

"Kate. You've got to talk to me. This is stupid. It's freezing out here, and can I remind you we almost drowned yesterday. Training for the New York marathon wasn't on my agenda until next week," he adds, trying to ease the tension with a joke.

"No one asked you to follow me out here, Castle. You're free to go at any time. In fact, I'd prefer that you did," she says, standing her ground, though he's let go of her arm by now.

"And _I_ told _you_, I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

Kate knows he's not stupid, and he's not acting mystified, so she realizes he must know exactly what this is all about. He's just waiting for her to come right out and say it. The second thing she quickly realizes is that she's never going to shake him, not unless she jumps in a cab, but even then he'll take it as a challenge to follow her, track her down. So she looks around quickly, spots the small, fenced off square across the street, and turns towards it.

"Park," is all she says to him, before crossing over, assuming he will follow, because that's what he always does.

It used to annoy her that he followed her everywhere, and then she grew to like it; the comforting knowledge that he'd walk through fire after her – wherever you go I go too. But today it just makes her sad, because instead of making her feel special and as if they are a team, it just feels like a misguided habit or a duty.

When they enter the park he takes control, leading them over to a black, painted, wooden bench. He sits down, spreads his legs apart to brace himself as he leans slightly forward on the seat. He lets his forearms rest on his thighs, and his head is bowed, looking down at the ground.

Kate sits down beside him, leaving plenty of room between them, as the cold air swirls through the trees, chilling them further the minute they stop walking. She's not sure where to begin, now that he has her here, trapped. She only knows from his sudden silence that there's a confession of sorts on the horizon, something he needs to get off his chest, and that her performance at the precinct has brought things to a head, for better or for worse.

Kate is scanning the few visitors to the small park; city moms pushing strollers, nannies with small children bundled up against the cold, a man with a three-legged dog that moves so fast the missing limb is lost in the blur of the other three, and so she almost misses the first words he utters when he begins to speak.

"I owe you an apology," he says, breaking the silence and grabbing her attention.

Kate waits him out, resists the desire to ask what he has to apologize for, because she's afraid that she already knows the answer, and that if she's right, then this apology is the last thing she'll ever be able to accept from him.

He's still looking at the ground when he continues.

"Yesterday. At the facility. I screwed up, Kate," he says, haltingly. "I let you leave…alone, when I should have gone with you. We should have left together. Partners, right?" he says, ending the statement on a question, as if feeling her out to see if he is on the right track.

Kate holds her breath, listening for what's to come. Partners used to sound good, used to be enough, and now it just sounds perfunctory and impersonal, and not nearly enough.

"I let old…_feelings _distract me. So _stupid_," he spits out, berating himself with such force that Kate thinks this is going to be much worse than she'd imagined.

She watches him run a hand through his hair, then shake his head, as if to clear a bad memory, before he pushes on with his explanation.

"I let Sofia Turner reel me back in," he confesses. "She was always good at that, an expert where I was concerned. Treated me like a kitten chasing a ball of string, tormented me. I endured a whole year of that, and I loved every torturous, humiliating minute of it," he says, in a tone that is full of self-loathing. "And then she turns up the other day; older, more powerful, and still capable of jerking me around, with her come-to-bed eyes and little asides about our shared past…and I fell for it, Kate," he says, quietly, before turning to look at her for the first time since they've sat down.

Kate is starting to shiver, from the cold and the revulsion she feels at his story. But she drives her hands deeper into her pockets and holds on.

"Actually that's not exactly true. I did more than fall for it. I'm not being totally fair to her. I actively pursued it…_her_. I pursued _her_. _There_, I've said it. How do you like that?" he asks. "_Some_ partner I turn out to be," he adds bitterly.

Kate is half tempted to say, if partners is all that they are, then what's the problem? Because then he's entitled to pursue whomever he wants, but she bites down this cheap retort and gives him space to get it all out.

"So, yeah. _I_ asked _her_ out. _I_ insinuated my way into her hotel bar, and then into her hotel room. _I_ did that. _Me_. _Your_ partner, Kate."

And the way that he says it, though on the surface it's a mea culpa, it's also a challenge…to her. He's blaming her in some way for this, for his own bad judgment, his own mistakes, for his weakness, and as much as it hurts her, it also makes her mad.

Her head is swirling with images of Sofia Turner in a little black cocktail dress, silk jersey clinging to every curve, and Rick Castle, all suave sophistication in dark blue Hugo Boss and a cloud of expensive cologne. His pre-meditated…_what_? Cheating? Can you cheat on a vague, veiled promise of something in the future, when maybe she'll be better and he'll still be there? Because right now, in this dark moment, she feels as if that's all they have between them.

He's waiting for her reaction, and when none is forthcoming he seems to feel the urge to get it all out. He blows on his frozen fingers then rubs them over his eyes, pressing the chilled tips against his eye sockets as if to obliterate the images he sees there.

"She's good, I'll give her that. Twelve years and she still knew how to push my buttons," he tells her bitterly.

Kate is swallowing hard, trying to hold down her breakfast as he gets down to the nitty gritty. Traffic noise swirls around them; car horns honk, engines rev up, but Kate's world has shrunk to this bench and this man.

"We reminisced about old times, flirted…and boy had I forgotten how that woman can drink. We had dinner at some point, but don't ask me what we ate. And then…" he abruptly stops speaking because Kate has just gotten up from the bench and is walking quickly away.

"Kate," he calls after her, rising to follow her down the path.

"Please," she begs, when he catches up. "This time, please don't follow me. I can't listen to this anymore. So, please, Castle, just stop. Let me go."

His confession is bad enough, but Kate finds herself unable to stop filling in the details he's yet to share in glorious Technicolor. And he's pushing her. She sees it in a flash of realization. He's forcing her towards an emotional precipice they've been so careful to stay away from for years. An agreement reached through tacit understanding that it's for the best and need never be discussed, that she's in control and they'll get there when she's ready…if she's ever ready.

"I can't let you go without finishing the story, Kate. There's more to tell and I need you to listen," he says, taking hold of her arm again and forcing her to a standstill.

She's shocked by the strength of his grip and by the audacity of his behavior. They don't do this – engage in heartfelt, honest conversations. They speak in code, and glances, barely there touches and light banter. He doesn't force her to do anything, never has, always backs down before things go to far, because he respected her and accepted her rules. He pushes, but only so far, and never as far as this. He asks for so little, she realizes, that this demand, to hear him out, is magnified as a result.

She tries to shrug him off, but he grips her even tighter, holding on so firmly she's sure he's leaving a bruise.

"Please, Castle. Just let it go," she asks once more, her voice no more than an exhausted whisper.

"Why Kate? Tell me why? Tell me why you don't want to hear about my night with Sofia? Surely you're curious?"

"No. Stop," she whimpers.

"Why, Kate? _Why_?" he pushes harder.

"Because you're supposed to be…" she blurts.

"_What_? What am I supposed to be?" he asks, badgering her for an answer.

"You're supposed to be…" she tries again, but trails off, unable to finish the statement, a tortured look on her face.

"_What_? _Tell me_, Kate," he pleads this time, his voice softening as he drops his hand from her arm to grasp her frozen fingers. "Please tell me?" he repeats softly.

"Because you're supposed to be in love with me," she finally cries out, gasping as soon as she says it, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes widening in horror.


	4. Chapter 4

**Missed Opportunities **

**Chapter 4**

**This is for those of you who wanted to hear Rick's side of things. Please don't flame me!**

**I'm still writing Playing for Time in case anyone is wondering. Just need to get this out of my system.**

He has to fight the sudden urge to reach out and touch her, to scoop her up his arms and make it all better, to tell her that she's just said everything he needed to hear and that they can leave it at that, for now. Because he knows her, and he knows that this is what she will want from him.

So he has to hold himself apart, even though she has just admitted to this; that she heard him. That she knows. That it matters.

Because letting her off the hook, allowing her to evade, not forcing them to face the facts, that's what he's been doing all along, and it's just not working. Hell, it's working so badly at this point that he's been driven to this – to Sofia Turner. Driven by need and insecurity to seek out the easy option – to go back to a simpler time, when a come-on meant '_meet me at my place in half an hour'_ and the end game was a sure thing; when innuendo wasn't a smoke signal, but a green light to action, an expression of need and desire, an overt display of human attraction, that fed his needy ego and made him feel like a man.

He loves Kate Beckett, has known it for a long time. Has even told her to her face, that fateful day on the grass, when he thought he'd waited too long and might never get another chance to say those life-changing words. And he knows that she heard him…has known this in his heart, despite her denials. Saw the flicker of a smile in her eyes before the lights went out, and so he knows that she knows.

But really, once they were out there, those three little words, how much actually changed? They both shed attachments, freed themselves up to move forward, and then got so horribly stuck behind an invisible wall of unvoiced issues that he's left feeling as empty as he was before he told her, only all the more alone because of it.

They pledged themselves to one another in a series of tiny exchanges, words and looks, all veiled in code, woven into a blanket he took comfort from when his resolve grew thin. She laughs more now, is more open towards him in her thinking, her acceptance that he is here in her life to stay, and he's been grateful for these small mercies. He really has. Watching her heal, and move closer was edifying, but just how long is he supposed to wait?

He realizes today that giving her this, space and his constancy, isn't doing either of them any good. They're both living half a life, and if he's lonely, then she must be too. If he craves the touch of another human being, warm skin against flesh, then she must too. And so they're here, on the edge of something, and it's fallen to him to push them off, for better or worse.

He understands now that they have to move forward or walk away from this. Because he knows what he's done, how he's been tempted, and how it must hurt her, and he understands that this moment of weakness might lead to more of the same, and he's not sure that he can stop once he starts.

She changed him. Made him into a better man. Taught him about discipline and fairness, about pursuing the truth, no matter the personal cost.

But the man that he was, the playboy with the swagger, who adored the ladies and lived for the thrill of the chase and a high he could feed off, he's still there too, lurking in the shadows. And it's that flaw in his character that led him back, so easily, to pursue Sofia Turner, while his partner, the supposed love of his life, stood by and watched.

Watched while he drifted off to a hotel bar, his manhood tugging him forward down easy street, to a woman who knew him before, when he was a poorer man in the moral sense, a man who broke hearts and bedded women without a second thought. And he tried to escape back to that time, believing the two of them to be the same people. But if he has changed in the last twelve years, then he was a fool to believe that Sofia Turner hadn't changed just as much.

And whilst Kate Beckett has always seemed out of his league, with her smarts and her beauty, her poise and control, her quick humor that he fed off, her evident love for him, always just out of reach, then Sofia Turner is out of his league too, but in a whole other way.

Because this woman makes bad-ass Beckett look like a kitten in heels. Sofia Turner is a ninja, a trained assassin of a woman. No soft edges, despite the promising curves, brittle, just as hard-bitten and driven as any man, with flint in her eyes and in her heart. And it shocked him to see what life and work had turned her into over the last twelve years.

* * *

><p>They flirted over drinks, but there was no warmth to it. She skewered him early on in a manner he would once have found arousing; the overt certain promise of a sure thing. But he was shocked by the boldness of her attack, until he figured it out – that she was testing him, and then he started failing that test.<p>

They ate dinner, her hand on his leg, a bare foot caressing his ankle, sharp nails grazing his crotch. He tried to play along, telling his body that this was what he wanted, this was why he was here, and all along thoughts of Kate filled his mind, tormenting him, and apparently, if Sofia's rebuke was anything to go by, spilling over into his conversation.

"You should have invited your little girlfriend to join us, Rick. Maybe she'd like a threesome. You know _I_ would," she'd purred in his ear.

Yes, he'd committed the carnal sin of seduction; talked about another woman whilst trying to bed the one in front of him. Oh, she'd put up a good fight, Sofia, using every trick in her female armory to distract him, entice him, turn his head and lead him into her bed – she was a woman on a mission.

But ultimately, once over the threshold of her hotel room, she'd given up on him, thrown in the towel. Because he couldn't stop himself from making some crass joke about him and Kate and a hotel that rents rooms by the hour, and this apparently had been the final straw.

Sofia had thrown him out on his ass, his dignity in tatters, hissing something about 'his precious detective' that he was too mortified to hear.

* * *

><p>And so it has led to this; standing half-frozen, in a small city park as the world lives it's life around them, staring at his beautiful partner, who looks as broken and vulnerable as he's ever seen her. And yet, he's unable to reach out and touch her.<p>

The fact that she's still here at all should be telling him something, but his internal wiring is faulty today, and Kate's failure to flee is lost on him.

He's still battered and bruised by last night, his ego dented, slowly losing his self-respect. He knows his mother and daughter think he's pathetic; love-struck, used and abused by Detective Kate Beckett, a plaything for her, and on his lowest days, he wonders what unhealthy signals he's feeding his daughter about love and relationships.

Hell, his own mother has encouraged him to seek solace in other women – Serena Kaye, springs to mind – since Kate's clearly not ready. But he also suspects that she pities her son a little, as much as she tries to support him in his love for this complex woman.

They're an inside joke at the precinct too. Colleagues have hooked up, and hell, broken up, met and married, in the time it's taken for him and Kate to…what? Pledge their troth and bide their time, until death does them part? Because, he thinks, morbidly, that death is likely to arrive sooner…and is definitely a more of a sure thing than anything that they are right now.

Kate shivers; a violent, whole body tremor that breaks him from his self-pitying stupor.

"You're freezing," he says with warmth and concern, reaching out for her, only for her to pull away.

"Kate, don't. We need to talk. _Really_ talk," he says earnestly, because the time has come and he can't afford to take no for an answer.

"No, Castle. We don't," she replies, trying to shut him down. To brush her blurted confession under the rug.

"Kate, we do, and we both know it. No more hiding. If you have nothing to say, then at least just listen. Because I sure as hell have enough to say for both of us," he adds with a wry smile, and at least she rewards him with an echoing grin, however wan.

"You always did," she says ruefully, choking out a laugh, before her expression drops to one so sad that it nearly breaks his heart.

"Not here," he adds, teeth chattering. "Need to get warm."

He reaches for her arm as they turn to leave the park, another telepathic agreement to find a coffee shop to warm up in before they both succumb to pneumonia. But Kate shakes him off gently.

"No, Castle," she says quietly, the hurt at his betrayal still raw as she labors on under the impression of a conquest he's had no chance to disabuse her of. "Don't…please don't touch me," she adds pleadingly.

But he hears the unspoken 'yet' in her voice when she permits him to lean against her as they cross the street, and he allows this faint hope to flare in his chest.

His hand falls unconsciously to her back as they enter a nearby diner, and it feels so right that he could weep.

And this time she doesn't push him away.

He's doing it again, he realizes, taking hope and sustenance from the scraps she'll throw him. But he doesn't care. He's back in her orbit and this is where he wants to be. Words are his weapons, and he's going to fight tooth and nail to keep her today. He sucks in a breath, follows her in. Yes, this is it. She won't know what's hit her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Missed Opportunities**

**Chapter 5**

By the time they find a booth, Kate's toes are numb and her brain is being painfully squeezed by the cold. She slides along the leather banquette, until her elbow hits the shelf below the window and she can go no further. Castle shuffles into the seat opposite, and she's grateful for once that he's giving her space instead of crowding in beside her, though part of her longs for the heat she knows his body could give her.

But, no, that wouldn't help. Because today she needs to be able to look him in the eye, needs to be able to tell if he's lying to her or not.

Oh how did it come to this?

They order hot chocolate and Kate smiles at the irony of it; the warm, comforting drink that takes her back to cold days and childhood innocence, when here they are to talk about who might be cheating and why, and if you can even call it that when they're…whatever it is that _they_ are. So, no, there's nothing innocent about any of this.

Kate plays with a packet of Sweet 'n Low while she deliberately avoids Castle's gaze. Her shivers have subsided to the occasional tremor, and she hopes that she doesn't come down with the flu, because getting sick on top of this would be a cruelty too far, and she's coping with all that she can right now; this personal tragedy unfolding in front of her.

The waitress eventually brings their drinks, and Kate gratefully wraps her hands around the chunky, porcelain mug, scalding her frozen fingertips with the heat, but refusing to prize them off if the pain in her hands deflects her from the pain that is lodged in her chest right now.

Because the one thing that struck her, as they made their way over here from that miserable, little park, is that he hasn't answered her statement.

Once the shock of her blurted confession wore off, that's what remained - the hole where his reassurance should have been. His part in the call and response she initiated.

'_You're supposed to love me'_, should have been followed by…

'_Please believe me, I do_.'

Or, '_Of course I love you, Kate_.'

Even, '_You heard me and you lied? How could you_?', would have been better than this. This nothing.

So, she's sorely tempted to get up and leave before he can say the words she fears most. Words that sound like, '_I did, but I've changed my mind'_, or '_That was a spur of the moment thing, when I thought you might die'_, or even the classic she's sure he's probably used before, '_It's not you, it's me and now it's over_'.

* * *

><p>She's blowing on the milky brown surface of her drink when his voice breaks their silence. Because the diner is happening all around them; buzzing with activity, bustling noise, and messy, messy life. But they're back inside their bubble for two, and the silence is so all encompassing that Kate swears she can hear an echo when he starts to speak.<p>

"Thank you for staying. I'm not sure I deserve this chance but…"

"Who says I'm giving you a chance, Castle?" she cuts in, feeling a flash of anger at his assumption. "I was freezing, this place is warm, and they have hot drinks. That's all."

"Oh. Right. Got it," he says, nodding, and his hopeful expression fades.

Her snappish reply appears to have stalled matters. It seems that even Richard Castle has his limits when it comes to bravado. He's tapping his fingertips on the Formica tabletop either side of his mug, staring down at the pink marshmallow melting on top, when Kate feels something inside her soften a little too.

"I'm sorry. That was…_unnecessary_. Please, go on. What were you going to say?" she asks, trying to sound encouraging and contrite, though she's still not too eager to hear what's on his mind.

"Kate…I don't really know where to start. That's part of the problem. I want to be honest with you. I think we owe each other that much. But we've been avoiding this discussion for so long that I'm kind of at a loss where to start."

Kate swallows hard, never more uncomfortable with this man, her best friend if she's honest, than she feels right now. But he's right. She knows he is, if she can only tell him so.

"You're a writer," she says more kindly, "so why not just begin at the beginning. That's as good a place as any."

"Good point," he replies nervously, running a hand through his hair, and her heart contracts, because she's never seen him so adrift.

"Kate, what happened with Sofia yesterday…" he begins.

"I think we got that bit covered, Castle," Kate butts in, unable to listen to him pick up the story of his previous night's conquest if she has any hope of staying in this seat to hear anything else he has to say.

"But I don't think you understand," he presses.

"Oh, _believe me_, I get it. Loud and clear," she says, shaking her head, glancing away, flustered by the tears that prick her eyes.

"No. No, Kate, you don't," he repeats gently, reaching across the table to capture her hand in a move that leaves her breathless.

She stares down at their hands, his large one covering her small one, the warmth of his body heat flowing into her where they are joined together, and it feels good and right. It feels like home, and in that moment, she hates him for what he can do to her.

He takes her failure to pull away as a sign of encouragement and he pushes on.

"When she threw me out, I was humiliated, of course, but I was also…just _so_ relieved. I'd got myself into a mess, painted myself into a corner, and when she threw my sorry ass out into that corridor…"

Kate looks up sharply, the meaning of his words crystalizing in her grief-fogged brain.

"Wait. Back up. She _threw_ you…? _When_? _Why?_" asks Kate, mystified.

"Right after we got to her room."

"Why would she do that?" asks Kate, suspiciously.

"It was your fault, in a round about way," he says, sheepishly.

"_My_ fault?" asks Kate, puzzled. "What did _I _do? I wasn't even there."

"Yeah. Seems you didn't need to be."

And now he is blushing, flushed with the shame of the admission he knows he has to make, because he's been ungentlemanly, and even a woman as predatory as Sofia Turner didn't deserve that.

"I know we usually have this mind-meld thing going, Castle. But just today, can you please spell it out for me, because things are just a little…foggy."

"She kicked me out for bringing you up in conversation a few too many times. Seems I mentioned you quite a lot over the course of the evening," he confesses.

And for the first time in this awful day, he sees a flicker of a genuine smile in Kate Beckett's eyes.

"You _didn't_?" she asks in amazement, the thrill of his admission tickling her insides. "Not in her _bedroom_? Castle, _no_," she exclaims, and then she laughs, a rich, tinkling sound that licks at his wounded pride and heals a tiny part of him.

He nods grimly, looking away in embarrassment, before a smile tugs at his mouth too.

"So, what are you telling me? That nothing happened?" she asks, sounding more pleased than she means to be. "And you showed up with that iPhone this morning to make it up to me?" she laughs, the whole scene at the precinct suddenly making sense.

Castle nods, blushing again. "Figured it was better than a bunch of flowers."

"So, absolutely nothing happened?" repeats Kate, trying to reassure herself that she's understanding him properly.

"Yes, but that's not the point, Kate. The point is that I _tried _to make it happen," he tells her, serious once more.

"Do you know why? And more to the point, do I even want to know? Because if we're being honest here, Castle, I've heard just about as much I can take for one day."

"No, Kate, full disclosure. Seriously, it's the only way. I'm not telling you any of this stuff because I want to hurt you. I want you to understand. To understand me. I just need you to listen. Do you trust me?"

Kate laughed again, a little hollow release of air this time, and was met by a look of hurt on Castle's face.

"Trust you? Do I trust you, Castle?" she asks as if he might just be crazy.

"Come on. I did this one stupid thing. Other than that, I'd say I've proved myself, had your back when you needed me. Kate, _even_ you can't deny that."

"I guess, this…_incident_ aside, you could say that I trust you - if we're talking an ambush in an alley? But, a roomful of beautiful women, Castle? I _was_ sure, yesterday morning, I was _so_ sure. But I'm not anymore. Sorry," she says, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from under his.

"Please don't let what didn't happen with Sofia Turner ruin what we have, Kate?" he pleads. "I'd never forgive myself if this moment of stupidity came between us."

"Maybe you should have thought about that sooner," she says, withdrawing to the far corner of the booth and crossing her arms. "And as for what _we_ have…I'm not sure I even know what that is. Do _you_? Because it looks pretty screwed up from where I'm sitting," she says with enough passion that it gives him hope to see that she still cares.

"Take a risk, Kate. For once. You're the bravest woman I know, but you _suck_ at this stuff. Ball's in _your_ court. Why don't _you_ _try_ and tell me what we are? And if you say _partners_, I'm walking out of here right now and you'll never see me again," he threatens, deciding that pushing her to face up to this is the only way, as he prays he hasn't blown it by pushing too far.

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett doesn't naturally back down from a challenge, but this is not what she signed up for when she agreed to hear him out today.<p>

"Castle, I agreed to come here and listen. You promised I wouldn't have to talk if I didn't want to," she says, feeling cowardly and weak but not caring, because he's damaged her trust in him and putting her heart on the line seems like folly right now.

"Right. Very mature. Well, if you're not going to talk, then you can damn well listen to me. And I'm warning you, parts of this aren't going to be pretty," he says with no small amount of anger.

Kate stands up, and for a moment Castle thinks she's about to leave. But she takes off her coat and goes to hang it up on a hook nearby, before settling back into the booth, biting back a retort about her lack of maturity.

He watches her - every stretch of her long, lithe body, every graceful movement, the softness of her sweater, the cling of her jeans, every little detail a knife blow to his heart if he can't have her.

Once she sits back down she waves to their server, calling her over to their table.

"Can I order some pie and coffee, please?" she asks, looking over at Castle to include him too. "Looks like we might be here a while and one marshmallow's just not going to cut it. You want to order something?"

"Eh, just coffee, thanks," he tells the waitress.

"Not like you to pass on pie, Castle," she notes, wryly.

"Yeah, well, I lost my appetite," he says gruffly, looking down at his hands.

"So talk. Let's see if we can't find it again," says Kate, trying to be kind, because he does look a little pale and she doesn't want to be responsible for him passing out.

"What we have," he begins hesitantly, "is special, and real, and comfortable. But I don't believe it's enough for either of us. Not anymore. We're like room mates at times, Kate…and I know we don't even live together, so bad analogy maybe, but we're like these horny friends you see in college who can't admit how they feel about one another, when everyone else can see it plain as day. I'm a grown man, Kate, and this is childish…the way _we_ are. Even my kid thinks I'm pathetic."

"I'm sure that's not true," interjects Kate, knowing how hurtful that must be for him.

"You haven't seen the way she looks at me. She pities me. And hell, even my _mother_ sees more action than I do."

"So go get laid, Castle. Oh…that's right, you tried that already," she says sarcastically.

Castle ignores her remark and carries on.

"This isn't about sex, Kate, and I think you know that. If it was, I'd have moved on a long time ago. So don't cheapen this…don't cheapen us."

"I'm sorry, that was childish. Go on."

"I've made mistakes. Big ones. I know that. But the one thing I've always been clear on is you. I finally told you that I loved you in that cemetery, but you have _no_ idea how much I regret leaving it until _that_ day, when it was almost too late. I _know_ that you heard me, have always known. But, I _failed_ you, when I let you shut me out. When really I should have been telling you again, and again…every single day, until I could make you listen to me. And I let you leave that summer, when I should have fought my way into your life, your recovery. I let you go through all of that by yourself. I was a poor excuse for a partner, Kate, let alone anything else."

"Castle, don't beat yourself up. _I _shut _you_ out. Don't think I don't know how I can be," she admits, seeing how unfair it is that he should be shouldering all the blame.

"Yeah, but if there's one thing I'm good at it's pushing my way in, Kate, and I didn't and I'm sorry. But I'm committed to making this work, as long as it takes, and I'm not going to let you push me away again," he says with determination.

"Committed? Like you were _committed_ to getting into Sofia Turner's bed last night?" asks Kate, jealousy and hurt flaring to life again.

"Touché," he says sadly, and Kate feels dreadful. He's apologized and she's still flogging a dead horse.

"I'm sorry. You're fighting…for us, I know, and I'm being a bitch. Ignore me," says Kate, accepting the plate of cherry pie and the mug of coffee the waitress places in front of her.

"But that's the damn problem. I _can't_ ignore you, Kate. Everyday, at the precinct, I sit there, just watching you…"

"I had noticed," she says, with a smirk.

"Yeah," he laughs, embarrassed. "And while you're standing in front of the murder board, doing your best for some poor victim's family, all I can think is how much I want to touch you, and kiss you, to run my fingers through your hair and my mouth over your throat, to take you home with me at the end of the day, and it's torture, sweet torture, Kate. Every. Single. Day. Not having you."

Castle's looking at her with undisguised tenderness, combined with raw need, and his face is so open that Kate can't bare it, the pain his desire causes her. So she looks away, out of the window, studying random strangers in the street as she tries to steady her nerves.

She picks at a cherry with her fork then drops it back onto the plate with a clatter. Her heart is thumping so hard she can feel it in her throat, but she knows it's time to follow her partner's lead and find some courage of her own.

"You think I don't want that too?" she asks, meeting his eyes as she runs her hands nervously through her hair, and Castle gapes at her, unable to believe what she's just said. "But I just can't have it," she says sadly, shaking her head.

"Why not? I'm right here…waiting," he replies, his eyes full, pleading.

"Because everyone I get close to, everyone I care about, everyone I…_love_," she says softly, "they all get taken away from me, and I can't risk that with you. Because if I lose you, then Alexis and Martha do too, and I can't be responsible for that, Rick. Just couldn't bear it," she admits, as tears gather in her eyes, spilling over this time, to run down her cheeks.

Castle is momentarily stunned, seeing how much it costs this woman to share her secret fears with him. Then he's on his feet, moving out of the booth to round the table, and slide in beside her.

Kate has turned her head away towards the window, concealing her tears from the other patrons in the diner. Her hand is over her mouth, trying to hold it all in.

"Come here," he says gently, sliding his arm around her back, tugging her shoulder until she relents and leans against him, allowing him to kiss her hair as she lays her head against his shoulder.

"What a mess," she mutters, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Maybe. But it's _our_ mess, Kate, so we get to decide how to clean it up. We could _all_ die tomorrow - garbage collector, doctor, housewife, writer, cop – any of us. You know that better than anyone. We see it everyday. The trick is making the most of the time we have. Denying ourselves happiness isn't going to protect us from harm, Kate. We're living half a life and it's only making us miserable. Can't you see that?" he says gently, stroking the back of her head.

"I'm scared," she whispers, allowing Castle to take her hand.

"Well, for once, I'm not. So how about I help you face your fears, shoulder the burden for a change?" he suggests, his lips grazing her ear.

"What about Sofia?" she asks, still needing reassurance.

"Kate, did you hear _anything_ I said? I spent my misguided attempt to seduce her talking about _you_. The whole miserable evening, you were all I could think about, all I could talk about. Don't you get it? I love _you_, more than I've ever loved anyone, Kate. Sofia is _nothing_ compared to you. On her best day, she was a pale imitation of you. But that's beside the point. You're the only one I want. I've spent years, Kate, longing for you. Waiting for you to be ready. Isn't it time you put me out of my misery, before I get any older and the term 'boyfriend' starts sounding ironic?" he jokes, bumping against her with his body as he squeezes her shoulder.

"Yeah, well you _are_ getting on a bit," she replies, hiding her smirk with her hair as she brushes away a tear.

"That's my girl. Never short of an insult," he grins.

"And you love it," she replies with a smile.

"Yes, I do. And I love you. So, will you give me a chance?" he asks, taking her hand in both of his.

* * *

><p>Kate's cell phone rings before she can answer him, and he eases back to give her space to take the call, scooting away along the bench, until Kate reaches out to lay a hand on his thigh to stop him from moving away any further.<p>

He looks down at her small, delicate hand, with its long, elegant fingers, resting against his jeans as she speaks into the phone, and if this is all he ever gets from her, he wants to bottle this moment.

She squeezes lightly on his thigh while she listens to whoever is on the other end of the line, nods a couple of times, thanks them and hangs up.

"That was Ryan. Gates is looking for us. The boys are covering, said to take as long as we need."

"And just how long do you think that will be?" asks Castle, his eyes on the table, until he flicks them quickly over to look at Kate's face, trying to read her mind.

"Oh, I don't know, Castle. How long do you think it will take us to finish this pie?" she asks, a seductive smile blossoming on her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Missed Opportunities**

**Chapter 6**

**A/N:** Spoiler Alert for 4x16 'Linchpin'. Thank you for all the great reviews and alerts. I can't believe this story got so long. It started out as a one-shot. Then I was going to end it with the cherry pie scene, a little homage to Twin Peaks. But then I watched Sneak Peak #3 for 'Linchpin' and…

* * *

><p>The boys look up from their computer screens, two concerned faces, when Kate and Castle stroll out of the elevator and over to Kate's desk. Castle dropped the soft, warm hand he's had wrapped up in his, all the way back from the diner, as soon as they entered the precinct. But Kate is standing so close to him now that it doesn't really matter, because he feels as if they're still joined together anyway.<p>

Their heart-to-heart has moved things forward at break-neck speed, and Castle's kicking himself. If he'd known this would be the outcome of forcing the two of them to sit down together and face facts, he'd have manned up months ago and moved them towards a real relationship long before now. Because Kate's going in to talk to Gates, to fill her in on the CIA case, and then she's asking for the rest of the day off so they can spend it together, and he can't quite believe his luck.

Ryan and Esposito immediately thaw toward him, when Kate briefly slips an arm up his back, presenting him to the boys as friend rather than foe, and then she leaves them to chat while she visits their boss.

"Okay. We're good to go," she says to Castle five minutes later, collecting her things from her desk. "Let's take these with us," she says, indicating the new iPhones. "We can set them up at home."

Castle's heart stutters on the word home. So much meaning, hope, and promise in one tiny word, and Kate looks so sure.

* * *

><p>They leave the precinct shoulder-to-shoulder, with none of the angry tension that surrounded them just a few hours before. Kate can feel exhaustion settling on her, from the stress of the case, and the emotional turmoil they've just faced, and the lack of sleep she endured the night before. She barely manages to stifle a yawn, but Castle catches her anyway and tugs her in close.<p>

"Let's get out of here, and then…" he stops, unsure what comes next. Because they haven't talked about how this is going to work, only that they're both certain it must.

"And then…Castle?" prompts Kate, standing close to him as the elevator descends to the lobby.

When he doesn't answer, she looks up to see that he's blushing, and looking so very serious. Still worried this might be a dream, and she'll jab him in the ribs and twist his arm for touching her.

"You know, I have no idea," he says, laughing nervously.

"Good job I have a few then," says Kate sassily, as the doors slide open and she marches out ahead of him.

* * *

><p>When they hit the street a cold blast of wind whips past them and it steals Kate's breath away. The cold burns her lungs, making her gasp for air.<p>

"Where to?" asks Castle, still unsure what comes next.

Because it's the middle of the day, and they never find themselves free, with time to burn and no plan on a weekday afternoon, together, still hurting but determined to heal.

"Take me home, Castle?" asks Kate, quiet and gentle, a little uncertain, not of what _she_ wants, but of _him_ and how _he_ needs things to happen.

And this is so unlike the Kate that he knows - the Kate who leads, who controls, who says when, and where, and if. But he's sure he could get used to this Kate too; this compliant woman, who has just shared her fears with him, and is willing to let him lead and meet him halfway.

When they left the diner she thanked him for fixing this for them, and he warned her that they're not there yet. There are hurdles to come and troubles to face, but she assured him that she wants them to try, wants them to succeed, to make a life, the rest be damned.

And so they're in the back of a cab when Castle asks tentatively, "Your place or mine?"

"I meant it Castle. Take me home. Your home, if that's okay?"

And they both know this isn't 'come home for dinner to the loft with my family', which they know how to do and are comfortable with. No. This is a new frontier. Just the two of them, in his empty apartment, with his honest declarations of love and desire for her still ringing in their ears.

* * *

><p>He gives the driver his address, and they sit back quietly, side-by-side, not touching as the cab speeds across town. Silence swirls around them, less comfortable than normal, because this is new and real, and they're both feeling nervous and shy now that they've been striped bare of pretense and long-concealed truths.<p>

Castle's surge of bravado that drove him to fight for them is draining away, like a sudden spike of adrenalin washed out of the bloodstream. They glance at one another and smile, looking quickly away again, excitement fizzing below the surface, pulse rates elevated as they enter this new phase.

All too soon the cab pulls up on the corner of Broome and Crosby. The ride over before they can find any kind of equilibrium, and so they make their way into Castle's building feeling anxious and unprepared, bumping elbows and hands as they did in the beginning, when brief touches contained no thrill, only annoyance for Kate, and the man beside her was still just a playboy looking for his next conquest.

The elevator ride is just as awkward. Kate's chewing her lip, and Castle's fiddling with his phone. There's no talking, no banter, and no touching, because life just got deadly serious for both of them; and the years of waiting, of wanting and holding themselves back have boiled down to this. Time alone, without a tiger, or a freezer, or a bomb to distract them.

* * *

><p>Castle unlocks the front door and then they're standing uneasily in the foyer looking at one another. Kate moves first, unbuttoning her coat and shrugging it off, and finally Castle comes to her aid, helping her out of it and hanging it up.<p>

They drift into the kitchen, the heart of his home, and Kate sinks down onto a stool at the counter while Castle opens a bottle of wine. She doesn't protest that it's too early to be drinking, because she realizes that they need this, to ease the tension and bring them back to their best selves, where the banter is easy and they can touch without breaking.

"Here's to…to us," he says, clinking his glass against Kate's, the pale, straw-colored liquid swirling around, catching the light and releasing its' sharp, grapefruit tang into the air.

"To us," she agrees, a tentative smile tugging at her lips, one that refuses to die when she presses them together, trying to contain her hopeful joy that they've made it at last, her glass cradled against her chest as she watches her partner, new light in her eyes.

They sit in silence, sipping their wine, as the clock on the wall marks off the seconds with a steady tick, tick, tick.

When Kate looks up from her glass, Castle is watching her, and she knows exactly what he's thinking, because he just confessed all in that busy, noisy diner, where they managed to push the world away and steal a moment just for the two of them, to fight it out until they could agree a detente. She doesn't look away, or scold him, because that part of her is gone, shuttered behind a new wall, that will ring-fence the old, in order that the new can thrive, and it feels so good to be this person for him.

* * *

><p>"What did Gates say?" Castle finally asks, breaking the silence, after nervously clearing his throat.<p>

"I didn't give her much chance to say anything. I told her we'd been tying up some things on the CIA case, and that we needed a break after our swim in the Hudson. Might also have told her I was taking you to get a Tetanus booster," confesses Kate, her laughter shattering the tension. "She looked at me kind of funny, but agreed to give us the time anyway."

"You told her I needed a _shot_?" asks Castle, amazed at the lie. "Why do _I_ always have to play the incompetent fool?"

"Because you usually are," jokes Kate, clinking her glass against his, as the wine loosens her tongue and her inhibitions. "And you play it _so_ well, Rick. Besides, she can check my medical record in a heartbeat. So, come on, take one for the team," she says, playfully shoving his arm off the counter.

"Take one for the team, huh?" he replies, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her in a move that's just so '_him_' Kate's guard drops instantly. Because this is who they are. Things might have changed in the last few hours, but it's still here where they left it, before the hurt and confusion got in the way; the essence of them.

"You seem to be getting your flare for ideas back," she says, toying with his shirt sleeve, her eyes downcast, hidden behind long dark lashes, until she dares to look up at him and catches the stuttering heat in his face.

* * *

><p>Castle saved them today, as surely as if he'd taken a bullet for her. So she places her glass gently on the counter and hops down off the stool, stepping towards him with her eyes firmly on his face. Her heart is pounding as she lays her hands on his arms to steady herself, moving forward to stand between the open vee of his legs. His hands fall lightly to her hips, holding her there.<p>

"Kate," he says, breathing her name as his thumbs caress her sides, holding on gently, terrified to push too much.

"Show me how much you want me, Castle," she whispers, leaning in to brush her lips against his ear, sending showers of sparks down the nape of his neck and into his spine.

"We don't have to do this all in one day, Kate," he says, offering her a way out, while screaming inside, '_are you completely insane_'?

"Rick, we're not kids. You said it yourself. Wait is over," she promises, sounding so self-assured and certain. "Show me."

Her lips brush his with the faintest touch, her fingers tightening on his biceps. She leans in against him and his arms slide round her back, encircling her and pulling her to his chest. She's teasing his bottom lip with her tongue, tracing the seam until he opens his mouth to let her in, crushing her to him with a sharp intake of breath, the floodgates opening on years of suppressed desire.

Kate moans into his mouth, her fingers sliding up through dark, silky hair as he lets his hands wander down the line of her back, past her waist to cup the rounded curve of her ass. The move jolts her hips towards him, and she gasps for breath, tasting the co-mingled flavors of coffee and wine that their lips and tongues offer up. Her blood is singing, her breathing shallow and labored, and she knows this is so good, because they haven't even started.

Seconds later she's tugging his shirt out of his pants and fumbling the buttons down the front when she feels cool air against her back. Castle's made light work of her pale grey sweater, lifting it off her superheated skin, tugging it upwards until she's forced to pull away so he can raise it up over her head.

He sits back on the stool, his eyes finding hers as his hands slide down her newly bare arms, thumbs smoothing as they go, before he breaks eye contact to look at her.

Her bra, chosen for comfort that same morning, is white and simple, framing her curves, and forming a stark contrast to the puckered, pink scar that lies between her breasts. And it is here that Castle's eyes eventually settle.

She watches him swallow as he takes it in; the healed circular hole where hot metal entered soft flesh with the express intension of ending her life. His eyes flicker to hers and she smiles at him, encouraging enough that he can place a hand over her heart, smoothing the pad of his thumb over that damaged spot with such care, that it seems as if by touching her there, he might erase the blemish all together.

There are tears in his eyes when she looks back up, and she kisses him gently below his right eye when a hot, salty traitor snakes down his cheek.

"No tears, Castle," she whispers. "We're alive. Show me how that feels," she adds, resuming her work on his shirt until it falls open, revealing a smooth, broad expanse of muscled chest, which her lips duly find.

Kate's mouth is on his nipple, working it with her tongue, while her hands slide the rest of his shirt down his arms until it falls to the floor in a puddle of fabric.

The skin-to-skin contact is electric, and Castle growls into her neck, sucking on her pulse point, while his fingers wander through her hair, and she moans into the hot, naked skin at his shoulder, grazing his clavicle with sharp, white teeth.

"Bedroom," she murmurs, tugging him up with her, and they stumble backwards.

They start to giggle when Castle skids on his discarded shirt, clinging onto one another just to stay upright, feeling freer than they have in such a long time.

The journey to his bedroom is slow and halting; books tumble from shelves and a lamp is overturned at some point when they crash into an end table and lose their balance.

But finally, they make it all the way in, despite wandering hands and searing hot mouths and nipping teeth.

Castle's so worked up he can only think of one thing: that they need to get rid of the rest of their clothing right now, so he can show her _exactly_ what it means to be alive.

And it is in that moment that they both hear a sound, and freeze together in horror.

"Hello Rick. Detective Beckett," purrs the clipped, feline drawl of Sofia Turner as she sits, legs crossed, at the end of the bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Missed Opportunities**

**Chapter 7**

**Spoilers for 4x16 "Linchpin" - you were warned! Happy Castle Day all. Let's hope it goes down something like this!**

* * *

><p>"<em>Sofia!<em> How the hell did you get in here?" demands Castle, flushed and out of breath as he and Kate rush to untangle themselves in front of the smirking CIA agent.

Castle steps in front of Kate in an attempt to preserve her modesty in the face of a fully clothed Sofia Turner.

"I'm CIA, Rick," Sofia purrs, obviously feeling no need to add anything further, because now she's grinning wolfishly at Kate, who has her hands on Castle's waist and her lips at his shoulder, because pathetic as it might be, he's hers now, and she wants to make sure Sofia Turner knows it.

"I see you two are a…_close-knit_ team," she says sarcastically, and Castle reaches behind him to take hold of Kate's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Why are you here?" he asks, ignoring her taunt.

"I came to see you, Rick. Why else would I be here?" she says, slowly crossing her legs with a rasp of black nylon stocking.

Kate lets go of Castle's hand, and steps boldly out from behind him to challenge the other woman, fed up with her attitude and annoyed by the interruption to their watershed afternoon.

"What? You didn't see enough of him last night? Because from what I hear, Rick wasn't that interested first time round," says Kate coolly. "And CIA or not, this is still breaking and entering. You're not welcome here," Kate informs her, wrapping her arms around her torso as she looks up at Castle for confirmation. When he agrees with an almost imperceptive nod, Kate adds, "You had your chance, Sofia. You're old news. Now get out, before I arrest you for criminal trespass."

Castle knows it's wrong to feel aroused in the midst of this scene. But there are two hot women in his bedroom, fighting over him. He hasn't seen this much action in years. One of them is wearing a tight black pencil skirt, heels and a sheer organza blouse, and the other, his beloved Kate, is standing there in only her bra and dress pants, looking fierce and protective while she fights their corner, and he loves her all the more for it.

"Kate's right. I think you'd better go," he says, reaching into his closet to grab a shirt, which he hands to Kate for her to put on.

But Sofia stands her ground, still lounging seductively on the end of the bed, completely unperturbed.

"I have to say, you haven't lost it, Rick. Still looking as good as ever," she says, letting her eyes roam over Castle's naked chest, appraising him like a prize bull.

Kate can feel the anger rising within her at this woman's overt, predatory flirtation, and she balls her fists at her sides to control herself, once she finishes tying Castle's dress shirt at her midriff.

"You keep yourself in good shape, Rick. Kate, you must be proud. He obviously thinks a lot of you," she drawls.

Kate flicks her eyes to Castle in confusion, unsure what she's getting at. Castle looks puzzled too. He sighs.

"Sofia, we're kind of in the middle of something here, in case it wasn't obvious, and neither of us have time for your little mind games. Yesterday was a mistake. We're ancient history. I'm with Kate now. I told her what happened last night and she's graciously forgiven me. So…you need to get over it and move on. You're making a fool of yourself," he adds, forgetting how vindictive Sofia Turner can be when she's crossed or scorned.

Kate's never seen Castle so angry and in control. She's glad he's finally fighting back, since this woman's been walking all over him for days.

"You always were a puzzle…Rick," says Sofia, continuing to speak as if she hasn't heard Castle, rolling the letter r in his name for seductive effect. She addresses Kate when she carries on speaking. "Oh, he plays the straight guy so well; the consummate charmer, ever the gentleman, the millionaire playboy with the cute daughter. But scratch the surface, and he could never resist holding something back. He feeds on secrets, you see. Likes to live like he's a character in one of his novels, Kate. Did you know that? And anyone in his life is a legitimate target for his delusional little games."

"What's your point?" asks Kate, getting fed up with the vindictive riddles this woman is trying to spin. "We all have a past. Rick and I have been partners for years, and we've been through a lot together. We don't keep secrets from one another. So make your point or leave."

"I actually came here to talk about Gage. But what I found when I got in here was much more interesting, so I decided to wait until you two lovebirds got home. The whispered sweet nothings were incredibly touching, by the way," she sneers, and Kate shivers with the thought that this woman had been sitting in Castle's bedroom listening to them fumble their way towards intimacy.

* * *

><p>When she refocuses on the CIA agent, Kate's brow furrows, because suddenly the woman is lifting her hand from her lap and holding her arm aloft. Kate's knee jerk reaction is that Sofia is holding a gun, and she's relieved to see that it's not, since her own service weapon is inside her bag out in the kitchen.<p>

Before Castle can grasp what she's doing, Sofia raises the small black remote that controls the digital smart board in his office, and she's pointing it towards the screen and pressing the power button.

Castle realizes the hell that's about to rain down on them a fraction of a second before the screen powers up, as time slows down but refuses to stop. Suddenly, he and Kate are back on the edge of that precipice, and Sofia Turner is the one pushing them off this time. He yells at her to stop, but by then it's too late.

Kate is startled by his outcry and spins round to look at him with concern, and when she sees his face crumple, she turns back to look at Sofia, who's lounging against the end of Castle's bed, one arm draped across the comforter, a satisfied smirk playing at her lips.

Kate's confusion disappears temporarily when she sees the large screen illuminated behind Castle's desk. But the instant she recognizes her own face, her cheeks heat up, and a mild panic flutters in her chest. Because if this is some creepy, love-sick tribute Castle's been keeping from her, some little altar to Kate Beckett that he worships from his bed, then she's preparing herself to be mightily embarrassed, and judging by the expression on Sofia's face, she's not far off the mark.

But when the CIA agent uses the remote to tap on Kate's picture, the board springs to life, and suddenly she's looking at the faces of every character, alive and dead, who features in the murder of her mother, and at that precise moment, a whole world of pain comes crashing down on her.

There on the screen are images of her mom, Captain Montgomery, Mike Royce, John Raglan and David McAllister, Dick Coonan, Hal Lockwood, Judge Markway and The Mayor, along with a blanked out face containing a question mark and notes that Castle has made.

Kate stares at it, mesmerized, her keen detective's brain already working to put the puzzle together, finding extra little pieces she hasn't seen before. And when she realizes that there is more information on this digital display than she and Castle have ever shared before, his outcry becomes crystal clear. He's been keeping this a secret from her, and somehow, Sofia Turner is in on the act.

"Nice, huh?" asks Sofia smugly, when she sees that Kate has taken the full contents of the display on board. "He's some partner, working away on your mom's case behind your back, Kate. Maybe he thought you couldn't handle it, and, I have to say, watching you two working together these last few days, I can see why he might be worried. I mean you're obviously easily upset, detective, if your reaction to Rick and I's past history is anything to go by," she taunts, and Kate wonders just what kind of technology the CIA loaded onto their phones and if this woman has listened in to every private discussion they've had. "This kind of puts that 'no secrets' thing you were telling me about in jeopardy Kate, doesn't it?" she sneers.

Kate is furious. Furious, confused, and deeply, deeply hurt. She's also totally humiliated, and to say that it is taking every ounce of control she possesses not to just walk out of Castle's loft right there and then and never look back, is a gross understatement.

However, through this fog of swirling emotion, she recognizes two things. First of all, that if she leaves, then Sofia Turner will win, and there is no way on this earth that she's about to let that happen. The second thing she notices is Richard Castle, standing solemnly by her side, looking like he's just had his life ripped to shreds. The man who fought tooth and nail to save them this morning, to give them a future together, who loves and cares for her more than anyone else ever has, is the only thing holding her in place.

The joy and hope has gone out of his face as suddenly as a flame extinguished on a candle, and the result leaves him diminished to the point of crushed. He's staring at the floor, a man on death row, awaiting the executioner. So it is with evident surprise that his head shoots up as Kate utters her next words.

"How did you find this, Sofia?" challenges Kate. "Or is your answer to everything, '_I'm CIA'_? Because Rick and I have been working on this by ourselves, behind the scenes, trying to keep his family safe. Whoever was gunning for me is also a threat to Rick and the people I care about. So it's vital that this information stays in this room, do you understand? Because CIA or not, I will rain down hell on you if you put this man or his daughter in danger. Is that clear? Now, like I said, you're trespassing and you're not welcome here, so get the hell out," bellows Kate, snatching the small black remote from Sofia's hand and using it to make the digital screen go black.

Her cheeks are flushed and her hands are shaking when she finishes speaking.

Sofia is watching her with a dubious expression on her face, unsure if she's completely convinced by Kate's performance.

"If you and lover boy have been working on this together, why do it here?" she asks Kate, ignoring Castle altogether now.

"Have you ever known Rick Castle to pass up the chance to get a new toy? The digital murder board was his idea, and the loft is…well, _was_, supposed to be more secure than my apartment. Until you showed up unannounced, that is," adds Kate, hoping the woman is buying this story, because there's no way she wants Sofia to be privy to any secrets between Kate and Castle, and hell, everything else aside, they _are_ supposed to be partners, even if Castle seems to have forgotten just what that entails. So she has to have his back in this, regardless of how she really feels.

Castle takes this moment to chime in, desperate to shut this little meeting down before any more skeletons come tumbling out of his closet.

"Sofia, I think that's enough. Kate's right; that information is private, and dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands. Forget you saw any of it, unless you want to put my family in jeopardy. Now, I think it's time you left," he says, indicating the door.

If she's rattled by their little double-act she manages not to show it, merely sneers once more at Kate, before getting up from her perch on the end of the bed and stalking her way to towards the living room. Castle follows her out, and as soon as they're both gone Kate sinks down into an armchair with her head in her hands.

* * *

><p>Castle is gone barely long enough for him to have ushered her out of the loft, so Kate knows there is no danger of a lingering goodbye. The woman is a predator, just as he described this morning, and she's glad in some respects that she was able to witness Sofia in action.<p>

But the minute Castle re-enters the bedroom, the almost insurmountable problem they have to face looms before her.

He looks contrite, and relieved in some strange way, as he slips on his discarded shirt and begins to button it up. Kate watches him with sadness, realizing that the crescendo to their long denied love story has just been ruined by this untimely intrusion. An intrusion that has opened up a gulf between them she's unsure how to begin fixing.

"Kate, thank you. That was…_horrible_. I'm so proud of you for handling her the way you did…"

He's saying words, phrases, but Kate's finding it hard to focus on anything but the basics – you schemed and you lied.

"Castle, just stop. I said those things because I had no choice. Falling apart in front of the CIA's pin-up of the month was never an option. So, yeah, I lied. But just what the hell have you done?" she asks, retreating away from the hand he extends to her.

"I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to find out like…"

"What? Like _this_, or at all?" she challenges. "Just when were you going to tell me that you were investigating my mom's case without me, Castle? Because last I looked you were feeding me a line about being more than partners, and making this work, and goddammit Castle, _why_?" she wails, drawing her knees up to her chest and tucking herself into a ball in the far corner of his comfortable, leather armchair.

"Kate, I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

He gives her so little to work with that she finds herself running off at the mouth, trying to reason a way through the pain and confusion she's feeling.

"Partners, Rick. We share. Lovers almost. We…_how_ could you?" she asks, as a sob escapes her throat. "We've waited so long for this…you have _no_ idea how hard I've worked to get to this point…and she…how did _she_ know?" asks Kate, sobering up a little as an image of Castle's ex, preening and crowing, swims into her head.

"She didn't, I swear. She must have poked around in here before we got home. I've discussed this with no one," he says, looking beaten down and exhausted.

Castle sinks to his knees beside the chair, then turns his back on Kate and leans against it, stretching his legs out in front of him so that they can carry on talking without having to look directly at one another. Face-to-face might have worked in the diner, but he knows Kate Beckett too well, and this secret might well be a deal breaker, and if it is, he can't stand to look at what he nearly had, if she's about to walk out the door.

"Why?" Kate finally asks, after a few moments silence, her voice barely a whisper in the open space of the bedroom.

"To keep you safe."

"_Not_ your job," Kate snaps back.

"The _hell_ it isn't," yells Castle, the frustration of this god-awful day finally getting the better of him. "You're _my_ partner, Kate. I nearly got you killed. I'm in love with you. How many _more _reasons do you need?"

"How noble of you, Castle. Do you have a white horse tied up somewhere too?" she says sarcastically, not taking too well to being coddled. "Because last time I looked, _I_ was the cop in this relationship, the one with the badge and the gun."

"And in this instance, you're also the victim. Hard as it is to hear, that's what you are, Kate, and someone has to protect you, to fight for you, just like you do everyday for the complete strangers we try to help."

"And you thought _that_ someone should be you, right? What, because the pen really _is_ mightier than the sword, Castle? How could you be so stupid? Putting yourself and Alexis at risk like that?"

"I had _no_ choice, and besides, I was careful. I worked on this alone, I haven't even told Ryan and Esposito what I'm doing," he assures her.

"Great. So when they drag you off to some unknown location, some damp warehouse in the back of beyond, where no one will find you for weeks, and then they put a bullet in your skull…? Smart! Really bloody smart, Castle! And what the hell do you mean, you had no choice?" she yells, stressing herself out with horrible, frightening images of his abduction and death.

* * *

><p>Castle takes a deep breath, tries to calm the anger and hurt flowing through his veins before he speaks again.<p>

"When you showed up at my book signing…after the summer…I was so _angry_ with you, Kate. I missed you terribly, you'd pushed me away; I thought you were off in some woodland paradise living with Josh, while I was barely existing, dragging myself through everyday, fighting to get by, hoping that the pain would subside enough that I could start to forget you. And then, there you were. Looking whole, and beautiful, and alive, and once I started looking I couldn't look away again. You had my heart, whether you wanted it or not. And you have no idea the strength it took not to tell you how I felt that day. But then you talked about walls and how you couldn't move on with your life, be in the kind of relationship you wanted, until you solved your mom's case…what was I suppose to do? Wait for the next FBI agent or handsome doctor to come waltzing into your life and sweep you off your feet?" he asks, a little bitterly.

"But we agreed to shelve the case?"

"That would have meant shelving us…indefinitely. I wasn't prepared to do that, Kate. So I worked on it by myself. I only persuaded you to stop digging to keep you alive. Montgomery had arranged to send an envelop to a guy named Smith after he died. The guy called me and warned me you'd be in danger unless I kept you away from your mom's case. As I said, either way, I had no choice. I'm sorry if it hurts that I kept this secret from you, Kate. But I refuse to apologize for wanting to keep you safe, and if I lose you over this, I'd still make the same choice. Because when it comes right down to it, I'd rather know you were alive somewhere in this world without me, than have to stand by and watch your father bury you…to have to help him do that. I just couldn't."

Kate listens with her breath held, on the verge of tears, as Castle defends his actions and pours his heart out for the second time that day. She aches to reach out, stretch down just a little way, to brush her fingers through her partner's soft dark hair. But this news is still too raw, her heart too full.

"Your dad understands that solving your mom's murder won't bring her back, Kate. He begged me to make you stop. Thought I was the only one you'd listen to," says Castle, with a hollow laugh. "I've always tried to respect and understand your need to solve her case, and I've supported you as much as I could, even when I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I know I've made mistakes. I'm just a writer and I'm only human, as you seem fond of pointing out. But you know what? I hope you'd do exactly the same thing for me," he says, getting up from his space on the floor by her feet and walking out of the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Kate sits silently in Castle's bedroom once he leaves, taking this moment alone to finally look around his room, where so many of her fantasies have taken place.<p>

The room seems larger and more masculine than she imagined; the rich rust colored comforter, impressively large bed, soft pillows and shams call to her, fragranced with the scent of him. She gets up from the armchair and crosses to the bed, running her hand over the cool, silk surface of the comforter, smoothing out the wrinkles left behind by Sofia Turner.

She wanders further afield, scanning his bookshelves, admiring the leather bound first editions, the breadth and depth of his impressive library; Shakespeare, Poe, Dickens, Milton, Conan Doyle, Melville, Twain, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, Capote, Nabokov. Smiles at his collection of Raymond Chandler novels and the trashier titles he's tried to hide in amongst the classics. She runs her fingers over the seven volumes of Marcel Proust's _In Search of Lost Time_, and longs to ask him if he has ever reached the end and if he hasn't, maybe they can read each volume together, the two of them.

Maybe.

Because time is what _they_ have lost, precious time, and it is all Kate's fault.

Drifting through to his desk, she picks up the small, black remote control, the key to their Pandora's box; the linchpin, and she points it at the screen, illuminating the digital display.

She looks at her own face, staring out at her from the screen, and it makes her ache to think that he's been living with this secret all by himself, that he passes this murder board morning and night, sleeps with it near him, all to protect her, to keep her safe and alive. All for the chance to love her, for a half-formed promise of when…maybe walls come down. All because she allowed her mother's murder to become her life, to consume it, to excuse her from living, and she's sucked him in along with her, down the rabbit hole, robbing his daughter of her father for months last summer, when she cut him out of her life.

Her cheeks burn with the shame of what she's done, and she shuts off the screen, unable to look at her own face anymore. Why this man loves her is a mystery, after everything she's put him and his family through. While he fights to protect her, for the hope of someday, she's been distant and controlling, withholding her love because she's afraid. But afraid of _this_ man?

* * *

><p>She drops the remote onto the desk with a clatter and hurries through Castle's office and out into the living room. The sun has started to set, and the room is shot through with a golden winter's light. When she sees him her breath catches in her throat. He has fallen asleep on the sofa with his arms wrapped protectively around his body, knees drawn up towards his chest, and his hair is ruffled by sleep.<p>

Kate goes quietly into the kitchen and retrieves the open bottle of wine from the cooler, along with two fresh glasses. Then she tiptoes back over to her sleeping soul mate, and she sets them down on the coffee table, before kneeling down in front of him on the floor.

She runs her hand so, so gently across his cheek, skimming his temple and up into his hair, carding her fingers through the fine, dark strands until he stirs and looks up into her face.

"Kate?" he asks, uncertainty clouding his eyes, swimming back up from sleep.

A single tear falls from her face, landing on the back of his hand, as she swipes a second one away.

"I'm so sorry," she says, smiling through her tears.

"Kate, what do you have to be sorry for?"

"I hardly know where to begin. You saved me…you've been saving me for years, from myself, from that case, and I pushed you away. You have sacrificed so much for me, Castle, and I took you for granted. I'm so sorry."

"Shhh, Kate," he says, reaching down to stroke her hair.

"No more," she says, leaning back on her heels and tugging on his hand.

Castle sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the sofa, confused, but hopeful. He spots the wine bottle and glasses sitting on the table as he stands. When he catches hold of Kate's hand and tries to tug her back down beside him, to pick up where they left off, to drink their wine and take things slowly, she protests, setting her free hand on his chest.

"No, Castle. No more. Wait's over. Take me to bed," she says, picking up the bottle and leading him gently by the hand, ready to make up for lost time.


End file.
